by Taylor Buck
“What?” Kat said.
“Where did Solomon’s wisdom come from?” Jack said looking up at the sky. “If it was divine… if God truly granted him wisdom, then the result was a gift to all of humanity, not just Solomon. Since the beginning of creation, man was given a choice. Free will. Solomon had the choice to decide whether he shared his abilities or kept them tucked away. He chose to share them. The answers are there, just hidden inside the pages.”
“It also explains the encryption,” said Kat. “He must have coded it for a reason. Solomon’s life reflects it. He realized that knowing too much was actually destructive to the human psyche… depression, paranoia, et cetera. He clearly found that out for himself, and ultimately became a living example by losing everything he amassed.” Her eyes sparkled in the sunlight. “I think,” Kat said leaning forward, “he coded the book so that we would uncover its secrets in doses… like a time-release capsule.”
“You mean he deliberately made it difficult to decode so that the more advanced man became, the more able they were to understanding the knowledge inside?”
“Exactly!” Kat said enthusiastically. “Making its absence the past 500 years, purely… systematic intention. Part of the plan. At some point the training wheels needed to come off. How would we ever know what we were capable of if we constantly relied on something to tell us what to do?”
Kathleen watched the girls playing beside the garden below. She seemed to be in deep reflection. Jack liked to watch her think. She became animated, almost like you could see her working out the problem. Kat hollered to Annie to be careful not to step on the tomatoes. She turned to Jack with a puzzled look. “Did they actually say it was destroyed?”
“What? The book?”
“Yes.”
“Well, yeah,” Jack said. “I asked Chester about it right after it happened. Why?”
“Oh, nothing,” she said dismissively. “I was just curious if you had actually seen it in the water. That’s all.”
Jack shook his head. “I couldn’t see anything. Kat, my eyes…”
“You’re right. I know,” she said.
Jack smirked and noticed a smile on Kat’s face. “You’re suggesting that—”
“I’m not suggesting anything,” she said cutting him off, “But you have to admit, it’s a curious notion. Don’t you think?”
Jack took a sip of iced tea. “I guess we’ll find out.”
“Maybe,” she said turning to Jack and scrunching her freckled nose. “Then again… would we ever actually know?”
The doorbell interrupted their discussion.
“I’ll get it,” said Jack standing up from his chair. He strode to the front door. A man was standing at the door wearing a grey suit and dark glasses. Jack didn’t recognize him. A black sedan with corporate branding idled out beside the curb. Judging by the man’s outfit and the parcel in his hands, he looked to be an expensive personal courier. “Jack Cullen?” the man inquired.
“That’s me,” Jack replied.
“This is for you.”
Jack looked curiously at the briefcase the man was holding out to him. He wasn’t expecting anything. The car, the suit… it all seemed so official. “Should I be concerned?”
“Not at all,” the man said calmly. “You’re perfectly safe,” he said with a quick smile. “That’s why people use us.” Then he turned and left.
Jack studied the briefcase in his hands. There were no markings on the outside. He brought it inside, shut the door and placed it on the dining room table. For a moment he just stared at it, studying the case as if it would offer clues as to what it held inside. It didn’t. After the anticipation had brewed long enough, he snapped the tabs and popped opened the briefcase. A small white note sat atop a rectangular-shaped package wrapped in brown heavy-grade Kraft paper. The note itself was square-shaped and had only two words neatly handwritten:
For Kat
He noticed the package had an address in the bottom left corner.
MF
58 Rue de Gergovie
75008 Paris
Jack recognized the handwriting instantly. He placed the letter aside and pulled out the wrapped object. It was weighty in his hands—substantial. He unwrapped it slowly, making sure to handle the object very delicately. As it slid into his hands, the sunlight coming in from the bay window bathed the edges giving it a glowing appearance. It was beautiful and enthralling, mysterious yet also very familiar. A smile spread across Jack’s face as he revered the elegant article.
“What is it?” Kat hollered from the back deck.
“A gift!”
Jack walked back through the house carrying the object with him. He stepped out onto the deck and held it out to her. “Here… it’s for you.”
EPILOGUE
IN FEBRUARY OF 1497, two years before the death of Marsilio Ficino, Savonarola rallied the Florentine residents to the town center to dispose of all material possessions. Using his eloquence to instigate a floundering, post-Medici republic into a state of revolt, he succeeded in convincing the citizens of Florence that anything created for pleasure was not from God, and therefore a sin. This gathering is a well-documented event in history known as the Bonfire of the Vanities. Precious manuscripts, sculptures and paintings by celebrated artists were brought to the town square, tossed into the fire and turned to ashes. Sandro Botticelli, one of the most prominent artists of the Renaissance, willingly brought a handful of his paintings from his studio and torched them in front of a ravenous and insatiable crowd.
Many priceless treasures were forever lost that night. The blaze was the culmination of Savonarola’s obsession in destroying everything the Medici had cultivated over the 15th century. Some say he knew about the treasure and formulated a plan to seek it out. Whatever the cause, Savonarola succeeded in captivating Lorenzo’s loyalty toward the end of his life. The cunning friar relentlessly pursued him, urging him to hand over his riches, even so much as to demand it in exchange for absolution while Lorenzo was on his deathbed. Fortunately, Lorenzo never had the choice of whether or not to hand it over since he never physically possessed the treasure or knew its whereabouts.
This risk had been foreseen.
Marsilio Ficino had planned for it accordingly.
Discovered in the first room of the letter chamber beneath the joining room, a briefly written note represented one of Ficino’s final journal entries.
All is burned.
Florence has succumbed to the deceptions of a cloaked enchanter. The Thēsauros is safely hidden to ensure he doth not devour it. For now it rests. For now it waits.
All is burned, but not all is lost…
- Marsilius Ficinus
About the Author
Taylor Buck is a self-proclaimed creative explorer. Outside of writing adventure novels he is also a graphic designer and art director for a major Internet company. An Oregon native, Taylor currently resides in Los Angeles with his family.
To learn more about Taylor Buck, his current projects and upcoming releases, visit him on his website at: www.taylorbuck.com or follow him on twitter @taylorbuck.
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